


words

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [41]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:04:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6703855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine what would have happened had Claire asked Jamie what he’d seen in his flashback in 02x02…</p>
            </blockquote>





	words

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/143381320149/words) on tumblr

Claire waited to speak until she counted twenty breaths on Jamie’s side of the bed. Slowly, gently, she reached her left hand over her shoulder to gently rest on his still-bruised fingers, drumming madly against the hollow of his throat.

“What did you see?”

Her voice was quiet - but he heard her. Shifted uncomfortably, rolling onto his side to face her. The neckline of her shift hung loosely over one bare, alabaster shoulder. Want - and revulsion - rose within him.

“I willna tell ye.” His eyes looked at her shoulder - the linen sheet - the hard peaks of her nipples beneath her shift - but not at her eyes. Because looking at her - *really* looking at her - meant he had to think about it. Re-live it. Again.

Her thumb whispered against the back of his hand, caressing the delicate ridges and tendons, tracing the now-fading scars that marked her handiwork. He lowered his eyes to watch, his body shrinking away, his soul screaming to hers.

“You told Jared that I’m a sturdy woman. I am.” 

He nodded.

“Did I not move heaven and earth to find you? To heal you? Am I not strong enough to bear your pain?”

How could she imbue such wisdom, such understanding, such *love* - in so few words?

“Let me bear it, Jamie. I *want* to bear it.”

She twined their hands together. His fingers, still stiff, tried their best to curl around hers.

“I dinna want to take ye to that place, Claire. I dinna want ye to be there.”

Her thumbnail traced the inside of his wrist. He licked his lips.

“I *was* there.”

“Aye, but - ”

“And I remember what you told me at the abbey - how he made you think that he was me.”

His mouth opened and closed, brows furrowed, eyes shut tight. “I - he - *no.* I canna do it.”

Claire slid closer to him and rested her forehead against his. Jamie sighed in surprise at her touch - but he did not recoil. Progress.

“How many times must I tell you before you believe it? I don’t care. You did it to survive - you had to. I forgive you. I understand.”

Jamie pulled back a bit and finally met her eyes. Her beautiful, beautiful eyes were so patient - so kind - so full of love. His were so frantic - shining with tears.

He swallowed. His weak fingers tried their level best to grip her hand.

“Dinna make me tell you,” he rasped. “I would do it all again, to save ye - ye ken that. But please, Claire - please. Dinna make me tell ye.”

“But why?” She tried so hard to not raise her voice - not wanting to do anything that would make him pull away. “I’m your *wife.* We promised honesty to each other - I want to know the honest truth of what happened, so that I can understand why you’re not sleeping. Why you look at me sometimes and I know you’re not seeing me. Why -” she swallowed at the sudden lump in her throat. “Why I’m always the one to touch you, and you’re never the one to touch me.”

Tears shone on his cheeks in the half-dark of their bedroom. Their sanctuary from the confusing hustle and bustle of Paris - but not from their memories.

Jamie’s chest heaved with deep breaths - and Claire, alarmed, recognized the onset of a panic attack. Quickly she released his fingers and placed a cool, calming hand at the base of his throat - directly on his sternum - feeling his pulse race.

“*Mo chridhe,*” he gasped. “*Mo Sorcha.*”

“I’m here. I’m right here,” she soothed. “Shh. Deep breaths.”

He swallowed beneath her fingers. Tears fell on her wrist.

Then the words began - soft, deliberate. Measured. His voice quiet, but strong. Never wavering.

He spoke only in the *Gaidhlig* - the language in which he was the most eloquent - his memories and fears tumbling out.

And as he spoke, his eyes held hers. His hand gripped hers tight, resting possessively on the small but noticeable swell of their bairn.

Words. So many words.

His voice rose and fell, tears flowing and ebbing. Whether he was telling her what had happened, or how he had felt since it happened - or both - she did not know. But she *did* know that he had to get it all out, in the only way he could, and that all she could do was to listen, try to understand a word every now and then -

“Blood -”

“Fear - ”

“Lips - ”

“Cold - ”

“Pain - ”

And then she realized he was saying the same words over and over - and that she knew exactly what those words meant.

“I love you - ”

She finally broke his gaze and sank her head into the shelter of his neck.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair - in English this time.

She kissed the sweat in the hollow of his throat. “I love you,” she breathed.

He wrapped his arms around her tight, legs twining with hers beneath the sheet. “I’m so sorry, Claire. So, so sorry.”

She pressed her belly to his - sheltering the child between them. “Shh. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“But - ”

Now she licked away the remaining drops of sweat. His pulse raced beneath her lips.

“Shh. I love you.”

“I love you.” Now that he had found the words, they just couldn’t stop.

“I love you, Claire.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”


End file.
